


Video X

by Sauronix



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cyberbullying, Harassment, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Public Humiliation, Scandal, Sex Tapes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix
Summary: Gladio reads the headline—A ROYAL SCANDAL: AMICITIA SEX TAPE, in huge yellow letters—and realization slowly dawns. He recognizes this photo, only it ain’t a photo at all. It’s a still from some amateur porn he made with his ex-boyfriend, Dario, a few months back. But Dario promised he wouldn’t share it.“What the fuck?” he breathes, a sick feeling churning in his gut.After a bad breakup, Gladio becomes the victim of revenge porn. Thankfully, Ignis has his back—even though he feels like the rest of the world is against him.





	1. One

It’s just after six on a Monday morning when Gladio’s phone starts to ring, the jaunty King’s Knight ringtone jerking him out of his sleep. Grumbling into his pillow, he feels along his nightstand until he finds the device, cracking one eyelid to squint at the name on the screen. Ignis. Figures. He’s the only one who’d be calling Gladio at the ass-crack of dawn. Gladio swipes to accept the call and brings the phone to his ear.  
  
“Hi,” he says, his voice thick with sleep. He clears his throat and tries again. “What’s up?”  
  
“Apologies if I’ve woken you,” Ignis says crisply on the other end of the line. “I’m en route to your place. Can you meet me in the driveway in ten minutes?”  
  
“Uh, I guess.” Gladio sits up reluctantly, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he leans back against the headboard. “Everything okay? Noct ain’t dead, is he?”  
  
“No, nothing like that,” Ignis says.  
  
“Then what is it?”  
  
“I’ll explain when I get there. See you shortly.”  
  
“Iggy, wait—”  
  
The line goes dead. Gladio blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. Ten minutes doesn’t leave any time for a shower, but the least he can do is pull on some clean clothes and brush his teeth. It’s a relief to know this has nothing to do with Noct, but his mind’s still racing with questions anyway. Whatever it is, it’s gotta be important if Ignis is coming all the way out to the family manor at this hour.  
  
An attack on the Citadel? Unlikely—if so, his dad would be up, too, and the rest of the house is still quiet. Surprise Crownsguard drill? Could be. But they’re not too common, and they just had one three months ago.  
  
Something personal? Maybe Ignis wants to take him out for breakfast before the workday starts. Gladio’s heart skips a beat at the thought, daring to let himself hope.  
  
He’s sitting on the front step, dressed in a pair of fitted sweatpants and a t-shirt, when Ignis pulls into the driveway in his black Citadel-issued car. Gladio climbs into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him. It’s quiet inside, the radio switched off, the air conditioning blowing cool air into the cabin.  
  
“Hey,” Gladio says as he buckles his seatbelt. “What’s up?”  
  
Ignis doesn’t look at him. He just shifts the car into drive, backs out of the laneway, and pulls onto the street, glancing once in the rearview mirror. He’s acting weird. It’s starting to make Gladio nervous. Are they being followed or something? He turns in his seat to look out the back window, but the street is clear.  
  
“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Gladio asks.  
  
“In a minute,” Ignis says.  
  
A couple of blocks later, he turns a corner onto a quiet cul-de-sac and finally brings the car to a stop along the curb, under the shade of a towering elm tree. He cuts the engine and drops the keys into the cupholder. Gladio looks at him, but Ignis just stares out the windshield, rubbing his chin with his index finger, the way he does when he’s thinking really hard about what he’s going to say.  
  
“Iggy, what’s wrong?” Gladio asks, more forcefully. “You’re freaking me out.”  
  
Ignis sighs. “Perhaps it would be best just to show you.”  
  
He reaches into the backseat and returns with a folded newspaper, which he hands to Gladio. Confused, Gladio unfolds it. It’s the Crown City Informer, the trashiest gossip rag in Insomnia. They normally publish rumours and fabricated stories about the goings-on at the Citadel, just the stupidest shit, like the obviously fictional interview with the king’s alleged half-Niff lovechild they printed last October. No one takes it seriously. Gladio would rather use it as toilet paper than reading material, and most of the city probably feels the same.  
  
The picture on the cover is of him, though. It’s grainy and orange-hued, like it was taken with a mobile phone, but it’s definitely him. He’s shirtless, his mussed-up hair spilling over a pillow, the eagle’s head clearly visible on his left pec. He’s smiling dreamily up at the camera, like he’s half in love with the person behind it.  
  
Gladio’s so stunned to see himself that at first he doesn’t understand. It’s the royal family that gets all the press, not their servants—which makes sense, because the king’s more likely to sell papers than his silent slab of a bodyguard. Besides, the Amicitias are pretty low-key. They don’t usually make it into these rags, unless it’s in the background of a bigger story. So what the hell is he doing on the cover?  
  
Then he reads the headline—A ROYAL SCANDAL: AMICITIA SEX TAPE, in huge yellow letters—and realization slowly dawns. He recognizes this photo, only it ain’t a photo at all. It’s a still from some amateur porn he made with his ex-boyfriend, Dario, a few months back. But Dario promised he wouldn’t share it.  
  
“What the fuck?” he breathes, a sick feeling churning in his gut.  
  
“I received an email from the Informer’s editor around three this morning,” Ignis says tightly. “She told me they had discovered a compromising video of you on a website called the Secret Shutter—”  
  
“That revenge porn site?” The pieces start to click into place. He broke up with Dario about a month ago. That should’ve been the end of it, but Dario wouldn’t let it go. He called and texted Gladio at all hours of the day and night, harassing him to reconsider, even threatening him, until Gladio had enough and blocked his number.    
  
Did he do this to get back at Gladio?  
  
“The very one. Apparently the people at the Informer track the names of everyone who comes into any meaningful contact with the royal family. They received an Eosweb alert for your name, and it led them to the website.” Ignis takes off his glasses and starts to clean them with his pocket square. He’s still not looking at Gladio. “She said they were going to publish the details of the video in today’s paper.”  
  
Gladio looks down at the pixelated image of his own face, his ears ringing. He’s gonna throw up, right here, all over Iggy’s leather seats. “Did she want something in return for keeping it quiet?”  
  
“No. I asked her to reconsider, but she wouldn’t. She just wanted to give me fair warning.”  
  
“Okay.” His head’s spinning, heat prickling in his scalp and ears and cheeks. This can’t be happening. “But it’s the Informer. No one’s gonna believe it’s real.”  
  
“The video exists, Gladio. The Informer is merely reporting on it.”  
  
“But maybe the video’s fake.” He’s grasping at anything, desperate to deny what’s going on, desperate to convince Ignis it isn’t true. “Maybe—maybe someone edited my head onto a porn actor—”  
  
“It’s real, I assure you.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
Ignis’s hand tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. “Because I’ve seen it.”  
  
Gladio’s breath catches in his throat, his gut lurching as he racks his brain, trying to remember what was in the video. Most of that night is a blur. All he knows is he got fucked six ways from Sunday, with every last second of it—and every last goddamn inch of his skin—immortalized on film. And it wasn’t like they propped the phone up on the nightstand while they got down to business. Oh, no. Dario held it in his hand while he was plowing Gladio, making sure to capture some close-up shots of his dick going into Gladio’s ass.  
  
“How much did you see?” he asks thickly.  
  
A muscle twitches in Ignis’s jaw. “Enough to verify its authenticity.”  
  
Gladio sits back in his seat, dizzy with humiliation, his heart rabbiting in his throat. It’s bad enough that the video’s out there in the world, but the fact that Ignis, of all people, saw him spread out like that, butt naked, literally begging to be fucked—  
  
“I apologize,” Ignis says, his voice softer now, “for violating your privacy. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”  
  
Gladio nods absently, swallowing hard to keep his stomach contents down. “So why the hell did you watch it?”  
  
Ignis sighs again, more of a huff, impatient. “I had to be certain it was really you before I started emailing webmasters with threats of legal action.” He pauses to put his glasses back on his face. "I saw less than thirty seconds, if it’s any consolation.”  
  
It ain’t. In less than thirty seconds, Ignis still would’ve seen a closeup of Gladio’s asshole, and maybe Dario’s cock sliding into it. Fucking hell. Gladio puts his head in his hand and leans against the window, his toes and fingers tingling. Is it possible to die of embarrassment? ‘Cause he thinks he might.  
  
“I sent a cease and desist letter to Secret Shutter requesting they take it down,” Ignis goes on, “and I’ve spent the last several hours on the phone with our lawyers. They seem to think Secret Shutter will comply, as you didn’t give them your consent to post it in the first place. But I’m afraid scrubbing it from the rest of Eosweb won’t be so simple.”  
  
Gladio looks up. “The rest of Eosweb?”  
  
“These things spread, Gladio. I’ve no doubt it’s on the torrents by now, and the likes of Lucis Triple-X. I shudder to think how far it’s been shared across social media.” Ignis finally looks at Gladio. The pity in his eyes is just the icing on this shit cake he’s been served. “And I’m afraid the Informer is only the beginning. It won’t be long before other news outlets pick up the story, once they discover it’s real. We need to be prepared.”  
  
“We?”  
  
“Of course. This is as much the Citadel’s problem as it is yours.” Ignis starts the engine, shifts the car back into drive. “I’ve taken the liberty of cancelling all your engagements for the day. The head of public relations is meeting us in the boardroom at seven. We’d best not be late.”

  
*

  
They don’t talk much on the drive to the Citadel. Ignis has enough presence of mind to keep the radio off—the last thing Gladio needs to hear is the hosts of the morning show crowing over this situation—but he also doesn’t try to fill the silence. Not that Gladio blames him. It’s probably awkward as fuck, having to sit here with Gladio after getting an eyeful of his junk. Doesn’t matter how long they’ve known each other, or how many times Ignis has seen him naked in the Crownsguard showers. A hard cock ain’t the same as a soft one, and until now, he’s never had to look directly at Gladio’s asshole.  
  
When they get to the Citadel, Ignis parks in the underground lot. The place is practically deserted. Gladio only counts three other cars parked nearby. That’s a minor relief, but Gladio still feels exposed as he gets out of the car. He folds his arms over his chest and follows Ignis to the elevators, wishing he’d brought a sweater or a jacket, anything to cover his tattoos. They’re calling too much attention to him now. He’s having visions of everyone stopping to stare at him when he steps out of the elevator upstairs.  
  
Everyone he works with, everyone he trains with, all the council member who’ve known him since he was in diapers. What’ll Cor say when he hears about this? How the hell is he supposed to look Noct in the eye?  
  
Shit, what’s he gonna tell his dad?  
  
Another hot, prickling wave of shame crashes over him, and he has to force those thoughts into silence. The more he thinks about all the people who’ve seen the video by now, the harder his heart beats, thumping in his chest like an insistent salesman at the front door. Noct and his dad are the least of his concerns, and whether or not anyone actually sees the video is beside the point.  
  
Fact is, it’s gonna be publicized all over the fucking place, so even if the people of Insomnia never watch it, they’ll probably read the articles about it. They’ll be scouring the gossip blogs and discussing it over coffee with their friends and chattering about it on social media. He’s gonna be the talk of the town. Everyone he passes on the street will be fully goddamn aware that he’s the star of the raunchiest sex tape to land on Eosweb in a while.  
  
“Have you had breakfast?” Ignis asks, checking his watch as the elevator climbs the floors.  
  
“No.”  
  
Ignis glances at him. “There’s a banana in my briefcase. Do you want it?”  
  
Gladio shakes his head. The way his stomach’s churning, he doesn’t think he can keep anything down right now.  
  
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open onto an empty corridor. Ignis exits, straightening his tie. Reluctantly, Gladio follows him around the corner, down another hallway, and into a small conference room at the end of it. A middle-aged woman in a grey pantsuit is sitting at the table, clacking away at her laptop keys—Carla Munio, the Citadel’s PR director. Gladio’s never met her, but he’s seen her on TV, fielding questions from reporters at press conferences. She has a reputation for being a bit of a shark, which is probably why the Citadel hired her.  
  
She glances up as they enter. “Ignis,” she says, nodding at him. Then she looks at Gladio, her gaze sharpening behind her glasses. He can already feel her judging him. “Mr. Amicitia.”  
  
Gladio gives her a tight-lipped smile. “Gladio’s fine.”  
  
She nods and gestures at the chairs across from her. Gladio plonks himself down in one. Ignis unbuttons his suit jacket and takes the other.  
  
“Coffee?” She nudges a cardboard tray with two disposable cups toward them.  
  
Ignis helps himself to one. “That’s very kind of you.”  
  
Gladio takes one so he has something to do with his hands. They’re still shaking a little. He feels like all of him is shaking.  
  
“Let’s skip the pleasantries and get right down to business, shall we?” Carla takes a sip from her own cup. “I’ve had my team working on this since five this morning. From what they’ve been able to piece together, it seems the original video was uploaded to Secret Shutter just before one in the morning by a user called—” She consults her laptop screen, barks out a laugh, and shakes her head. “—DarDaMan1143. Original.”  
  
“Do we have any idea who that might be?” Ignis asks.  
  
“I know,” Gladio says. They both look at him, eyebrows rising. “His name’s Dario. A glaive I dated for three months last year. He wasn’t too thrilled when I broke up with him.”  
  
The surprise on Ignis’s face smooths out, turning detached and critical, like he’s seeing a different side of Gladio, one he doesn’t like. Gladio has to glance away. He can’t stand Ignis lookin’ at him like he’s a disappointment.  
  
“Ah. And you think he posted this video to get back at you?” Carla says.  
  
“Yeah. Guess so.”  
  
“All right. That’s important information.” She types something on her laptop, the screen two cold, blue squares reflected in her glasses. “Ignis then received the email from the Crown City Informer a little before three in the morning—is that right, Ignis?”  
  
Ignis nods. “Correct.”  
  
“Why you?” Gladio asks. “Why not Carla?”  
  
“I am the chamberlain for High Highness’s household,” Ignis says, with deliberate patience, like this is obvious information. “It’s my business to know what’s going on with everyone who works in it. Besides, I’ve had communication with Diana—the editor—in the past, over certain unsavoury things her paper has published about Noct. That personal connection may have influenced her decision to contact me.”  
  
Right. That makes sense. Only Gladio kind of wishes the email had gone to Carla instead. At least she’d be clinical about it, and maybe he’d still be able to look Ignis in the eye without dying a little on the inside.  
  
Carla clears her throat. “So the issue went to print at three-thirty, and was on newsstands at five-thirty. By now, it’s safe to assume the Lucis Tribune and Insomnia Standard have also caught wind of the story, but whether or not they’ll actually cover it is anyone’s guess.”  
  
“Do you really think this is the sort of story they’d print?” Ignis asks. “It’s all rather…sordid.”  
  
Carla shrugs. “They’ll print sordid if it sells. That’s just the nature of the industry. I do have a lunch meeting with the editor of the Tribune, though, so I’ll see if I can persuade him to keep it under wraps.”  
  
“That would be appreciated.”  
  
“Yeah.” Carla gives him a pointed look over her glasses. "You owe me.”  
  
Ignis smiles mildly and crosses his legs, one over the other, his pant leg riding up enough to show the black and purple argyle socks he’s got on. Between him and Carla, Gladio feels like an idiot kid. They’re both sitting here in their fancy dress clothes, talking about how to handle his situation like he ain’t even present, like his input ain’t wanted, and the worst thing is, they’re right. Gladio has no idea what to do. He’s in over his head. If it was up to him, he’d dismiss himself from Noct’s service, leave town in disgrace, and spend the rest of his sorry existence camping out in the backwoods of Leide.  
  
But Carla obviously has different ideas. She turns the laptop to show Gladio the Informer’s home page. The same picture on the cover of today’s paper is splashed across it, the headline A ROYAL SCANDAL: PRINCE’S SHIELD TAKES IT IN THE POOP CHUTE! READ THE FULL STORY blaring at him in super-sized font. Gladio cringes and sinks deeper into his chair, folding his arms over his chest, his ears flaming.  
  
“I don’t think I need to explain to you the gravity of the situation,” she says, stabbing the tabletop with one finger as she leans toward him, “but I’m going to lay it out for you anyway. No sugar-coating. Just the straight facts.  
  
“When you take a position in the royal household, the choices you make in your personal life aren’t personal anymore. Everything you do has the potential to be an embarrassment for the royal family. You understand that, right?  
  
Gladio nods. He doesn’t need her to lecture him. He’s already well aware how bad he’s fucked up. It’s eating him alive.  
  
“You’re the prince’s Shield,” she goes on. “The most important thing you can do—more important than all the pushups and swordplay you get up to when you’re training with the Crownsguard—is put forward an image of power. You need people to respect you. To fear you.” She pauses for a second as he absorbs this. “Do you think you look powerful or respectable when you’re on your back with another man between your legs?”  
  
Gladio flushes to the roots of his hair. “The way I like to fuck has nothing to do with how good I am at my job.”  
  
“The public won’t see it that way.” Carla leans back in her chair, her eyes never leaving his face. “I need you to think about the optics of this. When you let another man into your—and I quote—poop chute, you look submissive.” She shakes her head. “A Shield can’t look submissive, Gladio.”  
  
“Well, I can’t do anything about that, can I?” he shoots back. “The video’s already out there.”  
  
“Right. So we need to fix the problem,” she says. She flips open the notebook beside her computer and removes the pen inside, clicking it to bring out the nib. “I need you to tell me everything that’s in the video.”  
  
“What?” Gladio glances at Ignis, hoping for some backup, but Ignis just looks at him impassively, his green eyes unreadable. “Why?”  
  
“I can’t make a plan if I don’t know exactly what we’re working with.” She gives him a pointed look over her glasses. "Unless you’d rather I watch the video?”  
  
Gladio shifts in his seat. “Uh, no.”  
  
“Then get talking.”  
  
Over the next hour, Gladio haltingly tells them as much as he can remember. It’s been around four months since the night he and Dario made the video, and he was a little buzzed at the time, so some of the details are fuzzy. He remembers having a few beers on the balcony of Dario’s shoebox apartment. Dario kissing him. Dario undressing him. Dario laying him down on the bed and touching him all over, whispering in Gladio’s ear that he was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, and could he please take a picture to remember this by?  
  
Somehow a picture become a video, and Gladio was so horny he didn’t bother objecting. Actually, the idea of Dario watching the video later just made his dick harder. And once Dario was actually fucking him—on his back, on his knees, bent over the desk—Gladio wasn’t thinking too hard about the camera anymore.  
  
Until today, he forgot it even existed.  
  
Carla takes notes as he talks, and Gladio stares at the floor, cheeks blazing, reciting the words in a detached tone, like he’s reading them from a police report. He doesn’t dare look at Ignis. Gladio never even wanted him to know about Dario, let alone all the ways the two of them got it on.  
  
“Well, the good news is, it’s pretty vanilla, as far as sex tapes go,” Carla says, once he’s done. “No kinks to speak of. Very boring. Handling it should be straightforward.”  
  
“Great,” Gladio says stiffly.  
  
Carla checks her watch. “It’s ten to noon. This is probably a good place to break. Like I said, I’m meeting the editor of the Tribune for lunch, but let’s be back here by one-thirty. We can start discussing how to move forward when we reconvene.” She looks at Gladio. “You should stay out of sight as much as possible, at least until we can get a response together.”  
  
“Of course. We’ll take our lunch in my office,” Ignis says.  
   
They walk together to the elevator. The halls are busier now, bustling with other Citadel employees. Gladio keeps his head down, his hands shoved in his pockets, and tries not to look up. He doesn’t wanna know if everyone’s staring at him.  
  
At the bank of elevators, they part ways. Carla hits the call button, reminding them again to lay low, and Ignis and Gladio continue on to the stairs, taking them down five floors to Ignis’s office. The hallway here is quieter, but Gladio still doesn’t feel safe until Ignis closes the door behind them, cutting them off from prying eyes. Only then does he release the breath he’s been holding, sagging into the chair against the wall.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind Cup Noodles,” Ignis says, setting his briefcase on the desk and popping it open. “I’m afraid I didn’t have time to make something healthier this morning.”  
  
“You know me, Iggy. I’m always up for Cup Noodles,” he says, without much feeling.  
  
He still ain’t all that hungry, but he knows Ignis won’t leave him alone until he’s eaten something. So he sits quietly in his chair and watches as Ignis puts on the electric kettle, takes two packages of Cup Noodles out of his briefcase, and sets them on the table next to the kettle. Then he crosses his arms and leans on the edge of his desk, glancing at Gladio with a cautious look in his eyes.  
  
“How are you?” he asks.  
  
Gladio offers a half shrug. “Dunno. Been better, I guess.”  
  
“Yes. It…can’t be easy.”  
  
They hold eye contact for a handful of seconds, until Ignis looks away, adjusting his glasses. It’s awkward as hell, and that’s just making this mess all the harder. They practically grew up together, playing and training and working side by side. There ain’t much Ignis doesn’t know about him, ain’t much in his life Gladio hasn’t shared with the guy. But apparently seeing Gladio get fucked was a bridge too far.  
  
The kettle starts to whistle. While Ignis is filling the noodle cups with water, Gladio’s phone chirps in his pocket. He pulls it out, and his heart drops into his stomach.  
  
**Dad (12:21 PM):** I expect you home in time for dinner tonight. We need to have a talk.  
  
Fuck. His dad’s gonna kill him. After all the years of sermons about honour and duty and proudly representing the Amicitia family, Gladio’s gone and put a pin in their reputation. He can hear it already: _I’m disappointed, Gladiolus. You were raised better than this, Gladiolus. You’ve embarrassed us all, Gladiolus._ The last thing he needs today is another lecture about the way a Shield is supposed to act.  
  
“Here.” Ignis gives him one of the cups and a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks, the kind the takeout places hand out with their food. “It isn’t much, but if you’re still hungry after, I can go down to the cafe around the corner and get you a sandwich.”  
  
“Nah, this is good.” Gladio pokes at the noodles with the chopsticks, his stomach growling despite itself. “Thanks.”  
  
Ignis takes a seat in his desk chair, his own cup in hand. They slurp at the noodles in silence for a few minutes, Gladio bringing the chopsticks to his mouth automatically, not really tasting the food. Is the day over yet? Can’t he just go home, fall into bed, and refuse to leave his room for the next month? At least until the media moves on to the next poor fucker who puts a toe out of line? Having to sit through another four hours of a PR strategy meeting is gonna be the death of him.  
  
“This Dario,” Ignis says suddenly, setting his cup down on the desk. “You never mentioned him before.”  
  
Gladio glances up at him, but Ignis is looking elsewhere, like he’s deliberately avoiding Gladio’s eyes. Is he pissed that Gladio never told him? “Uh, yeah,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Didn’t really see the point. I wasn’t with him very long.”  
  
“Yet you trusted him enough to make such a film,” Ignis says.  
  
It ain’t a question, and Gladio doesn’t answer. Trust Dario? No way. He dated Dario to pass the time, to distract himself from the heartache of wanting someone he couldn’t have, and Gladio knew going into it that he’d never have feelings for Dario beyond casual attraction. It had nothing to do with trust, and everything to do with his dick thinking harder than his brain.  
  
“Apologies,” Ignis says, interpreting Gladio’s silence as offense. “I didn’t mean to…”  
  
Gladio waves the hand holding the chopsticks, cutting him off. “It’s fine. I’m an idiot, I know. Sorry you have to clean up my mess.”  
  
Sighing, Ignis shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything more. Gladio sends his dad a perfunctory text— _yeah, I’ll be there_ —and they finish their lunch without another word.

  
*

  
Ignis pulls up to the curb outside the Amicitia household and shifts into park, leaving the engine running. It’s nearly six, and dark already. Lights glow in the windows beyond the hedgerow. Within, he imagines Jared at the stove, Iris poring over homework in her room, Clarus pacing his study, waiting for his son to arrive.  
  
Little wonder Gladio seems so reluctant to leave the vehicle, taking his time to unbuckle his seatbelt.  
  
“Thanks for the ride,” Gladio says.  
  
“It was no trouble,” Ignis responds. Truth be told, he doesn’t want Gladio to leave, either. They haven’t truly had a chance to talk today, and Gladio has been more subdued than ever since their disastrous conversation at lunch. “If you’d like, I can pick you up tomorrow morning. It might be a little soon to face the metro.”  
  
Gladio nods, his jaw clenching. “I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”  
  
They lapse into silence again, Gladio looking out the window toward the house. The glow of the streetlamp gilds the curve of his cheek. Ignis knows he should say something, but he’s incapable of finding the words. There has been a great deal of silence between them today, so different from their usual rapport. He can hardly stand it.  
  
“Guess I’d better get going,” Gladio finally says. He pulls the handle and opens the door. “Thanks again, Iggy. See you in the morning.”  
  
Then Gladio is gone, striding up the laneway, his hands in his pockets. Ignis watches him go, a longing sort of ache taking hold of him. Today has been difficult for both of them. If only he could erase the humiliation Gladio has suffered; if only he could erase the humiliation yet to come.  
  
If only he could forget he ever saw another man making love to him, touching him in all the ways Ignis has long wished to.  
  
Sighing, he takes his phone out of the inside pocket of his jacket. There are ninety-seven new email notifications waiting for him. He didn’t have time to attend to them today, what with the hours he spent in the meeting with Gladio and Carla. He’ll have to respond to them this evening, perhaps over a glass of wine and a plate of supper. But for now, he ignores them, scrolling through his inbox until he reaches the email he received from the editor of the Informer early this morning.  
  
_Hey Ignis_ , it says. _I thought you should know we came across this video of the prince’s Shield. We’ll be publishing a story about it in today’s paper. (And sorry, I won’t reconsider. We can’t let the Tribune break the news. You know how it is.) But since it’s going to cause a huge uproar for you guys, I figured I’d give you a heads up. Fair’s fair and all. —Diana_  
  
And underneath, the link to the video.  
  
The glimpse he saw this morning was enough. Enough to confirm the video’s authenticity. Nearly enough to break his heart. Yet still his thumb hovers over the link, renewed curiosity warring with his concern for Gladio’s privacy. The memory of Gladio naked—beautiful and laughing, then his face slackening in pleasure—has already begun to fade. A part of him wants to see it just one more time. Another part of him rejects the thought, shame curdling in his gut.  
  
Gladio is more than just a body. He is more than his sex appeal. Ignis cannot forget that. Not now, of all times, when the slavering public will be looking at him like he’s a piece of meat, and hungering to tear him apart.  
  
He exits his inbox without clicking the link, slips his phone back into his pocket, and drives away.


	2. Two

The house is quiet when Gladio closes the front door behind him. Carefully, he places his keys on the table in the entryway, listening for sounds of life. The hum of the fan over the stove comes from the kitchen down the hall, where Jared’s probably making their dinner, but otherwise, there ain’t a peep. Maybe he can go up to his room and collect himself for a minute before he has to face his dad.  
  
Nudging off his shoes, he tiptoes down the hall in his socks, avoiding all the places he knows the floorboards creak. A triangle of lights spills out of the half-cracked door of his dad’s office. Gladio sneaks around it, letting out a relieved breath, thinking he’s gotten away with it, when—  
  
“Gladiolus.” His dad’s voice, from behind him. “A moment, please.”  
  
Gladio freezes, the muscles between his shoulder blades tensing. Slowly, he turns and finds his dad standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a steely look in his eyes.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” he says, his throat feeling suddenly dry. “I was just gonna grab some water first.”  
  
“No need.” His dad uncrosses his arms. “I have whiskey.”  
  
Resigned, Gladio follows him into the office. The lamp on the desk casts a buttery glow over the room—over the folders scattered across the desktop, and the leather-bound volumes in his dad’s mahogany bookcase, and the pictures of Iris and Gladio hanging on the wall. Next to it, there’s a decanter of whiskey and two lowball glasses. Gladio sits in one of the wing-back chairs on this side of the desk, anxiously clasping his hands between his knees, and watches his dad pour them both a drink, his face unreadable.  
  
“Here.” His dad slides one of the glasses across the desk, toward Gladio. “The gods only know we both need it.”  
  
Gladio accepts it, his skin crawling as he wonders what his dad knows, what his dad’s seen. Probably more than either of ‘em would be comfortable discussing, judging by the weary sigh his dad lets out as he sinks into his own chair. Gladio watches him, saying nothing, waiting for the hammer to fall.  
  
“This is not the sort of conversation I ever though I’d need to have with one of my children,” his dad begins, swirling the liquid in his glass.  
  
“Dad, I’m sorry—”  
  
His dad holds up a hand, and Gladio quietens. “I’m not angry, Gladiolus. Surprised, perhaps, and disappointed, but not angry.”  
  
Gladio nods numbly, tapping his fingers on his glass in an anxious rhythm. He wants to be anywhere but here.  
  
“You are my son,” his dad says carefully. He’s still looking down into his glass, avoiding Gladio’s eye. “I have only ever wanted you to be happy. If being with other men makes you happy, then it is not my place to judge.”  
  
Oh, fuck. This isn’t the conversation Gladio was expecting to have. “Dad—” he starts to say, but his dad cuts him off again.  
  
“I do wish you had told me of your preferences,” he says, “and it pains me that you thought you couldn’t.”  
  
A flood of heat scalds Gladio’s cheeks. He sinks further into his chair and swallows a mouthful of whiskey, grimacing as it burns all the way down. “Shit, Dad, I didn’t tell you about him because it wasn’t serious, not ‘cause I thought you were gonna disown me or anything.”  
  
His dad nods. “Good.” And finally glances at him, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that I—”  
  
“Don’t worry about it. I know,” Gladio says quickly. Heartfelt talks ain’t really an Amicitia forte. This is worse than the time Jared tried to give him the birds and the bees lecture after catching him jerking off to a dusty romance novel he found hidden in a crate of books in the basement. “I appreciate it.”  
  
With another nod, his dad sets his glass down on the desk, all business again. “In that case, let’s discuss your appearance in the tabloids this morning.”  
  
Gladio looks away, sighing. “C’mon, Dad, I know I fucked up. Carla from PR already raked me over the coals.”  
  
“That’s fine,” his dad says, holding up a hand again to placate him, “but as the head of the Crownsguard and your captain, it’s my duty to reprimand you when you’ve made a misstep. And make no mistake, Gladiolus—this is a serious misstep.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Gladio says again.  
  
His dad raises an eyebrow. “I’ve no doubt you are, but I need more than apologies from you. I need to know you’ll think twice before you make such a video again. The manner in which you conduct yourself—”  
  
“Has the potential to embarrass the royal family, I know,” he says, repeating the words Carla said to him earlier today. “I thought the video would stay private.”  
  
“I find it difficult to believe the risks never crossed your mind.”  
  
Gladio offers a half shrug, looking down into his glass, a different kind of shame creeping over him. It’s not that the risks never crossed his mind, in an abstract kinda way. He just assumed this would never happen to someone like him—noble, powerful, male. “Guess I won’t be making that mistake again, will I?” he says.  
  
His dad sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I’m more concerned about whether you’re learning the right lessons from this.”  
  
“Meaning?”  
  
“Gladiolus, think about who you are,” his dad says. “An Amicitia, the prince’s Shield, uniquely positioned as a trusted friend to the crown. There are people out there who would exploit any advantage they could find to take you down a few pegs, or reveal your weaknesses to the world.”  
  
It sounds a little dramatic. Dario probably wasn’t thinking about his title or his connections to the king when he posted the video. At least Gladio hopes not—he can’t really say for sure, not without askin’ him.  
  
“Your position gives you power,” his dad goes on, “but it can also be your downfall. You’re in the public eye. Whether you like it or not, everyone in Insomnia knows who you are. That’s not such a bad thing when you have the public’s favour, but at times like these…”  
  
“It’s a weapon,” Gladio finishes. “I get it.”  
  
“You understand in hindsight,” his dad says, patient despite the interruption. “It’s future scenarios I worry about. I need to know you’ll think things through more carefully, in every circumstance. I taught you to be judicious in your role as Shield; now I want you to apply those lessons to your private life as well. Have I made myself clear?”  
  
Gladio nods, trying not to shrink into his chair. It’s like he’s five years old again, and his dad’s giving him shit for drawing on the walls with his mom’s lipstick, only now he’s too old to cry about it.  
  
At least he has booze. He down the rest of his glass, distracting himself with the burn of the whiskey, as his dad studies him from across the desk.  
  
“Why did this happen?” he asks.  
  
Gladio groans. “Do we have to do this? Can’t we just agree I fucked up and move on?”  
  
The even look in his dad’s eyes never wavers. “I just want to know who would do this to my son.”  
  
Gladio shifts uncomfortably in his chair, rattled by his dad’s sudden shift back into parent mode. “Some guy I dated. It didn’t end well. I figure he did it to get back at me.”  
  
“You figure?”  
  
“I haven’t talked to him since we broke up,” Gladio says, waving a hand. “So I dunno for sure, but that’s the only explanation I can think of.”  
  
“Well, in that case, I’m sorry he broke your trust, Gladiolus.” His dad’s gaze flits away, fixing for a second on the photos of his kids hanging on the wall. “He wasn’t worthy of your affections.”  
  
Gladio swallows the lump in his throat. “Maybe not.”  
  
They look at each other across the desk for a moment. It’s been a long time since Gladio ran to his dad for help or comfort—a long time since his dad talked to him as a father rather than a mentor or captain—so it’s weird, this conversation. Weird, but reassuring.  
  
Then his dad clears his throat, reaching for the bottle of whiskey. “You should speak to your sister. It hasn’t been an easy day for her, either.”  
  
“She knows?” Gladio asks, frowning.  
  
“How could she not? It’s the talk of the town.” If he notices Gladio wince, he doesn’t acknowledge it, continuing: “Her classmates had a field day with the news. There was some teasing, from what I understand.”  
  
“Shit.” Gladio runs a hand through his hair and blows out a sigh. He should’ve known Iris would get dragged into this mess. “She upstairs?”  
  
His dad nods. “In her room.”  
  
They bid each other good night. Leaving his dad to his whiskey, Gladio takes the stairs two at a time to the second floor. Iris’s room is at the end of the hall; he can see light shining under the closed door. He raps his knuckles twice before opening it. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, her laptop open in front of her, her chin propped in one hand, lookin’ glum. But when she sees him in the doorway, she manages a half smile.  
  
“Hi, Gladdy,” she says.  
  
“Hey, kiddo.” He crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, glancing at her screen. It’s open to an Eospedia page on the rogue queen of Lucis. “What’cha up to?”  
  
“Just working on a history essay.” She closes the laptop lid. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah. Just wanted to check in on you. Dad said you got teased at school today?”  
  
Slowly, she nods, glancing away, a bit of colour rising to her cheeks. “It wasn’t that bad. Honestly.”  
  
“You wanna talk about it?”  
  
“There’s not much to say. Some kids were just being jerks.”  
  
“Jerks how?” Gladio presses.  
  
Iris hugs herself, shaking her head. “They said some mean things.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“I can’t remember exactly,” she says, an edge of irritation in her voice. “Just leave it, Gladdy. I’d rather not repeat it.”  
  
“Okay, okay. Sorry,” he says. As much as he’s wondering what the hell they said, he ain’t gonna push the issue. If she wants to tell him, she’ll do it in her own time. “I just don’t like that they’re hassling you about it.”  
  
She’s still looking at him with those huge eyes. “Why did you do it? Everyone knows you’re supposed to be careful about stuff like that.”  
  
Gladio sighs. He’s been asking himself the same question all day. “I trusted him.”  
  
“How long did you know him?”  
  
“We dated for three months.”  
  
“Three months!” Iris snatches up a sparkly throw pillow and hits him with it. “Gladdy! You can be so dumb sometimes. Don’t you know anything about guys?”  
  
Gladio wrests the pillow from her hands. “Hey, we’re not all assholes, okay?”  
  
“I know, but you still have to be careful,” she says. “You can’t always tell the jerks from the nice ones. This is really basic stuff. Like, dating 101.”  
  
“Yeah, well, now I know better.”  
  
They look at each other for a minute, an awkward silence descending. Knowing Iris has heard all about the video ain’t a comfortable thought. There are some things siblings just don’t need to know.    
  
“What did Ignis say?” she finally asks.  
  
Gladio chuckles, leaning back against the headboard. “He thinks I’m an idiot.”  
  
“Oh, come on. Ignis would never say that.”  
  
“Nah, but I could tell by the way he looked at me.” His smile fades as he remembers the disdain in Ignis’s eyes during their meeting with Carla, and the awkward silence on the car ride home. “Honestly, I don’t blame him. I’m lucky he’s even taking the time to help me clean up the mess.”  
  
“Think this torpedoed your chances with him?”  
  
“Like I ever had a chance to start with.”  
  
Iris tilts her head, studying him. “Even though he’s helping you clean up the mess?”  
  
“He’s only doing it because it looks bad on Noct,” Gladio says, blowing out a breath.  
  
The look in her eyes goes serious. “You don’t really believe that, do you? You guys have been friends forever."  
   
Gladio doesn’t know what he believes anymore. Ignis hardly ever says what he really thinks, at least when it comes to personal shit, and Gladio ain’t in the trusting mood right now. Iris is probably right—Ignis is just being his helpful self, as usual—but it’s hard for Gladio to see it that way because he wants Ignis to want him so badly. It’ll be a fucking miracle if today hasn’t changed the way Ignis looks at him forever.  
  
He clears his throat and relinquishes the pillow to Iris. “I’m gonna get to bed. Been a long day.”  
  
“Fiiiiine, don’t answer the question. I have to finish this essay anyway.” She sighs and opens her laptop lid again. “You sure you’ll be okay?”  
  
He nods. “Give me a few days and I’ll be right as rain.”  
  
“Okay. Night, Gladdy.”  
  
“Night, kiddo,” he says, ruffling her hair.  
  
When he finally closes himself into the refuge of his bedroom and takes out his phone to check his messages, he finds a text waiting for him from Ignis.  
  
**Ignis: (7:37 PM):** I’ll be around to get you at 7:30 in the morning, with coffee. Do you still take yours black?  
  
Gladio can’t help smiling. Leave it to Ignis to be that considerate, even if he does think Gladio’s a total moron.  
  
**Gladiolus (8:07 PM):** yeah, that sounds great, iggy. thanks a million.  
  
The response comes right away.  
  
**Ignis (8:08 PM):** My pleasure. Sleep well.  
  
Sighing, Gladio throws his phone on the bed and peels himself out of his clothes, trading it for a towel. In the shower, he soaps himself up mechanically, and tries not to think. Tries not to think about how many people have seen him naked by now. How many newspapers have been sold with his shame splashed across the front page. How many jeering comments have been written about him on Eosweb.  
  
Fuck, what are all his colleagues and acquaintances and friends saying about him? How’s he supposed to walk into the gym tomorrow morning with his head held high? How’s he supposed to look Cor in the eye, or train the recruits? Can they even take him seriously anymore, now that they’ve seen him getting pounded?  
  
_A Shield can’t look submissive_ , Carla said. _Do you think you look powerful or respectable when you’re on your back with another man between your legs?_  
  
Gladio swallows the sick feeling that rises in his throat and towels himself off, quickly stepping into a pair of flannel pyjama pants so he doesn’t have to see his own body in the mirror.  
  
Back in his room, he settles down on his pillows and checks his messages. Nothing. That’s probably for the best. After a day of people telling him how bad he’s fucked up, a bit of peace and quiet ain’t unwelcome.  
  
Only problem is, it gives him too much freedom to get stuck in his own head. He keeps thinking of the way Ignis looked at him in the meeting today, with that distant, calculating gleam in his eyes, like he was seeing Gladio—the real Gladio—for the first time. Gladio throws an arm over his face. He wishes he’d never said anything about Dario in the meeting.  
  
Fucking Dario. If he was after revenge, he’s damn well succeeded. And the more he thinks about it, the more it pisses him off. Why did Dario have to go and do that? What did he think he would gain? Against his better judgement, he pulls up Dario’s name in his contacts and sends him a text.  
  
**Gladiolus (8:17 PM):** tell me why.  
  
He watches the message window, his stomach turning over in anticipation of what Dario will say. Maybe he won’t respond at all. Maybe he’s blocked Gladio or changed his number, or maybe seeing a text from Gladio will make him shit his pants and ignore it altogether.  
  
But then his phone pings.  
  
**Dario (8:20 PM):** y do u think  
  
Gladio ain’t in the mood for games. Frustrated, he huffs and shoots off another text, too pissed to put down his phone and let it go.  
  
**Gladiolus (8:21 PM):** just answer the fucking question.  
  
**Dario (8:22 PM):** b/c u thought u could just walk away from me  
  
**Dario (8:22 PM):** i needed to teach u a lesson  
  
**Gladiolus (8:23 PM):** you’re a real dickhead, you know that?  
  
**Dario (8:27 PM):** fukk off gladio u dumped me  
  
White-hot rage fills him, and he grabs a fistful of his duvet to stop himself from punching his lamp right off the nightstand. What the hell did he ever see in this asshole? He types a response, his hands shaking so bad his autocorrect has to save him from looking like an idiot.  
  
**Gladiolus (8:28 PM):** yeah and it’s a damn good thing i did.  
  
**Gladiolus (8:28 PM):** i don’t wanna be with the kind of person who’d do this. ever.  
  
Then he slams the phone down on his nightstand, fuming, and ignores it when it buzzes with another message.  
  
But he lies awake late into the night, the conversation playing over and over in his head.

  
*

  
Ignis picks him up at seven-thirty on the dot the next morning, just like he said he would. When Gladio gets in the car, there’s a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him in the cupholder. He takes it and sips at it gratefully, murmuring his thanks.  
  
“Most welcome,” Ignis says, shifting the car into drive. “And good morning.”  
  
Gladio glances at him. His face is pale, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than ever—probably not a good sign, for a guy who works more than he sleeps even when shit isn’t hitting the fan.  
  
“You doin’ okay?” he asks.  
  
“Quite,” Ignis says lightly. “And you?”  
  
Gladio shrugs and looks out the window. “Conversation with my dad went better than expected. Some of Iris’s classmates gave her a hard time, though. Didn’t feel so great about that.”  
  
“Ah.” Ignis pulls out of the neighbourhood and onto the main road, smoothly merging with traffic. “Children can be cruel.”  
  
Gladio grunts in agreement. “Yeah, I just wish they wouldn’t be cruel to my sister.”  
  
“They’ll forget in time." Ignis says nothing more for a few minutes, letting the classic rock on the radio fill the silence, before he clears his throat and says, “I’ve been in touch with the Crown’s lawyers. I was wondering what legal action we could take against Dario, but as it turns out, the laws around this sort of thing are rather vague.”  
  
Gladio crosses his arms and looks out at the city rushing by. “I figured.”  
  
“We can have the video taken down from various websites with threats of civil action, but the lawyers don’t think there would be much point to laying charges against Dario.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Apparently the case would be nearly impossible to prosecute,” Ignis says, his voice flat. "They advised against it.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Gladio mutters. “I’d rather just let this situation die.”  
  
“And allow him to get away with it?”  
  
Gladio glances at him. Ignis is staring out the windshield, looking perfectly composed, but Gladio can tell he’s clenching his jaw.  
  
“Shit, Iggy, what’s the point in getting revenge? Revenge is what landed me here.”  
  
“It isn’t about revenge,” Ignis says sharply. “It’s about ensuring Dario faces consequences for his actions.”  
  
Gladio sighs. “Look, he only did it because I dumped him.”  
  
“You are allowed to end a relationship with someone,” Ignis says. “There’s nothing immoral or illegal about that. What Dario did, however…”  
  
“Ain’t illegal, like you said.”  
  
“But immoral, certainly.” Ignis turns onto Crown Boulevard, making for the Citadel’s parking garage. “Gladio, he distributed pornographic images of you without your consent.”  
  
“I know what he did,” Gladio snaps, “and I don’t wanna press charges or anything. No point keeping this in the news any longer than it has to be. So can we just drop it?”  
  
“Of course,” Ignis murmurs.  
  
An awkward silence descends as Ignis enters the parking garage, pulls into a spot, and kills the engine. For a minute, neither of them moves. Gladio’s in no hurry to get out of the car and face the Crownsguard training he’s scheduled to lead this morning, and he figures Ignis is waiting for him to act first. Gladio glances at him and finds him still staring out the windshield, his jaw set. Only Ignis can make cold anger look so attractive.  
  
“Sorry,” he says, deflating. He shouldn’t be taking his shitty mood out on Ignis. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”  
  
“It’s all right,” Ignis says tightly. “I know you have a lot on your mind.”  
  
“I just don’t know if I’m ready to face everyone.”  
  
“I suppose I understand that, too,” Ignis says, his expression softening as he looks at Gladio. “All you can do is hold your head up high and pretend it doesn’t affect you. They’ll forget soon enough.”  
  
Gladio snorts. “Soon enough. Right.”  
  
“Well.” Ignis adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps not as soon as you’d like, but in time.” Then he looks at Gladio again. “I’ll walk in with you so you don’t have to do it alone. If you’d like, of course.”  
  
Gladio smiles. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Iggy.”  
  
They ride the elevator to the ground floor together, the muscles between Gladio’s shoulder blades wound tight. A vein in his temple throbs. His head starts filling with images of everyone turning to stare at him when the doors slide open, the lobby of the Citadel going so quiet you could hear a mouse fart.  
  
That ain’t what happens, though. Not exactly.  
  
They step out of the elevator together, and the bustle of traffic flows around them like they ain’t even there. Gladio watches a man in a blue suit walk by, barking orders into his mobile phone, and then two women in power suits step out of the elevator next to them, engrossed in conversation. They carry on down the hall, without sparing Gladio and Ignis so much as a glance. The muscles between Gladio’s shoulder start to loosen.  
  
Then he sees the receptionist staring at him. The urge to look away is strong, but he forces himself to stare back, expression hardening, even though he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. _Hold your head up high_ , Ignis said.  
  
She keeps staring. Gladio looks away, heat prickling up his scalp and down the back of his neck.  
  
“Are you all right?” Ignis murmurs.  
  
Gladio snaps out of it and looks at him. “Yeah. Why?”  
  
“I can almost hear your teeth grinding,” Ignis says.  
  
“I’m fine.” Gladio pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. He glances at the receptionist again and finds her still looking. “I just wanna get out of here. See you at lunch?”  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t today. I have a meeting to finalize the last few details of the Crownsguard social at noon.”  
  
Right. The Crownsguard social. The once-in-a-year event where the organization’s members—the ones who aren’t on duty, anyway—get to unwind and celebrate another year well done. With all the bullshit that’s been going on, Gladio forgot about it. Normally, he’d be excited to go—after all, there’s free booze and free food, and it’s a chance to spend an evening with Ignis outside of work and away from Noct—but now, the idea of having to show his face there puts an uncomfortable feeling in his belly.  
  
“I can drive you home this evening, though,” Ignis adds. “Meet me in my office at six?”  
  
Gladio agrees, and they part ways. Gladio power walks to the Crownsguard gym, keeping his head down and avoiding contact along the way. When he arrives, a few new Crownsguard recruits are stretching on the mats, talking amongst themselves. They all go quiet when he enters. Gladio’s heart starts a beat a little faster, and he can feel a flush rising anew up the back of his neck.  
  
“What are you looking at?” he barks. “Keep stretching.”  
  
Without waiting to see if they obey, he makes a beeline for the locker room. It’s hazy with steam from the showers, and echoing with voices as some of the more senior Crownsguard members get changed after their morning workout. Gladio drops his duffel bag on the nearest bench and starts to get undressed, avoiding eye contact with the others.  
  
“Hey, Amicitia.”  
  
The voice comes from his left, and the taunting lilt to it puts Gladio on edge again. He glances up and sees Brutus, one of the bigger guys in the Crownsguard, leaning against a nearby locker with his arms folded over his chest. Gladio’s never liked him. He might be built like a brick shithouse, but he’s a bit on the stupid side, and he never knows when to shut his goddamn mouth. Gladio just wants to knock the sneer he’s wearing right off his face.  
  
“What?” Gladio says.  
  
“You want some of this?” Brutus says, and then he grabs his cock through his underwear and waves it at Gladio.  
  
The room erupts into laughter, echoing off the tiled walls. Gladio grits his teeth, his face flaming and his hands balling into fists. All he wants to do is throttle the fucker, but he forces himself to turn away and get on with changing. Brutus is asking for a fight, but Gladio’s not about to give it to him. His dad would kill him. So he does his best to ignore Brutus, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into his open locker.  
  
“What’s wrong, Amicitia?” Brutus steps closer, getting into his space. “You shy all of a sudden?”  
  
Gladio lets out a frustrated breath and pulls on his Crownsguard tank. “Look, just leave it alone, all right?”  
  
“You didn’t seem too shy in the video I saw last night.”  
  
Gladio shoves him in the chest, just enough to get him out of his personal bubble. “Fuck off.”  
  
“The little bitch has a big bark. Cute.” Brutus shoves him back, knocking him against the lockers. “You’re lucky you’re an Amicitia, or I’d kick your ass for that.”  
  
Then he does fuck off, before Gladio has the opportunity to make a comeback. Though honestly, he ain’t really in the headspace for it. He’s always been well-liked by his fellow Crownsguard, or at the very least respectfully tolerated, so this is new for him. Before, no one would have dared to approach him like that. But it seems like Dario’s video has changed everything.  
  
When he reaches into his duffel to retrieve his pants, his hands are shaking.  
  
That’s new, too.

  
*

  
On Thursday night, his morbid curiosity gets the better of him. He shuts himself in his room after dinner and sprawls on his bed, already typing his own name into the search bar on Eosweb. A bunch of hits come up, the first being the story on the Informer’s website. He scrolls past it, already knowing what it says. The next is a link to a forum called Crown City Gossip. That one, he clicks, doing a bit of a double-take when he sees his own name on the post at the top of the page: _Gladiolus Amicitia Sex Tape Megathread_.  
  
“All right.” He runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. “Guess we’re doing this.”  
  
And he clicks.  
  
The first post is from someone named NoctsWife66, and it says: _OMGGGGGGG you guys i’m literally SCREAMING RIGHT NOW!!!! gladiolus amicitia has a sex tape and it’s raunchy AF. check it out! eta: the video keeps getting taken down. guess the citadel doesn’t want everyone seeing what a cockslut he is. if you come across it somewhere, message me and i’ll add it to this post!_  
  
Underneath, there are few dozen crossed out links—to Secret Shutter, to Lucis Triple-X, to a couple of blogs, to another gossip site. It’s all over the fucking web. The realization makes Gladio’s skin crawl.  
  
But if it’s been taken down from all these sites, that means Ignis has been workin’ his ass off to get the video removed. That helps. Just a little bit.    
  
At the bottom of the list, there’s one link that isn’t crossed out. Gladio stares at it, faltering. Does he really wanna click on this? Does he really wanna remind himself what’s in this video, and see himself the way thousands of other Lucians have seen him this week—on his back, vulnerable and exposed, getting plowed by someone he thought he could trust?  
  
Before he can talk himself out of it, he clicks the link. Dario’s laugh bursts out of the speaker, making him jump. He swears and turns the volume down. Then he sees himself. The camera focuses on his face, smiling up at Dario from where he’s lying on the bed, one arm thrown over his head on the pillow.  
  
“ _You gonna get on with it or what?_ ” his video self asks, voice light with amusement.  
  
The camera pans down slowly, taking in his pecs and abs and dick. Then Dario says: “ _Just enjoying the view_.”  
  
“ _Well, the view’s gettin’ tired of waiting_.” And his video self bends his legs back, giving the camera a real nice look at…fuck, everything. “ _So let’s go_.”  
  
Gladio closes the window, feeling a little sick to his stomach, and like a stupid asshole for ever letting Dario take the video in the first place. He can’t watch the rest. It’s too humiliating. He’d rather keep the details of it hazy and indistinct. It’s safer that way.  
  
Absently, he starts to scroll down the page to look at the message thread instead.  
  
**RayJack1**  
_Fuck me guys, is that his dick? I thought it’d be…………….bigger ಠ_ಠ_  
  
**ZuZuMafoo**  
_Yeah I was kind of surprised too. A guy that size, you’d expect a tree trunk of a dong. No wonder he takes it up the tail pipe cause if he tried to bang anyone with that they probably wouldn’t be able to feel it at all._  
  
**ShivasTits**  
_It might look bigger if he trimmed his pubes. It’s a tad jungly down there._  
  
**ChocoGirl840**  
_and waxed his butthole! vom! you can barely see it. D:_  
  
**GigglyHam**  
_K, like any of you virgins are getting laid. 11.5/10, would fuck._  
  
**RayJack1**  
_Confirmed: @Gigglyham has no standards_  
  
**GigglyHam**  
_Uh because I’d fuck a gorgeous man even though he doesn’t have a porn-sized cock? K._  
  
**RayJack1**  
_UH no, cuz you think a roided out man whore with a micro penis is “gorgeous” o_O_  
  
**GigglyHam**  
_If that’s your idea of a micropenis then why don’t you show us what you’re packing, hot stuff?_  
  
**ChocoGirl840**  
_i mean, he really does look like he’s on roids doesn’t he? no wonder his penis looks so tiny…_  
  
**NLC83035**  
_holy SHIT. that beefcake likes to get fucked??? IS THIS LEGIT??????_  
  
**CaelumsBitch**  
_Look, can we all just agree his tattoo is tacky as hell? Not to mention the shitty haircut. I can’t believe his family lets him walk out of the house looking like that every day. They must hate him._  
  
**ZeroUsername**  
_Yeah whats with that filthy glaive do? Hes from a good Lucian family, he shouldn’t be walking around with a fugly mullet._  
  
**RayJack1**  
_Seriously what a moron. And @Gigglyham 9 inches or gtfo_  
  
Gladio drops his phone on his belly, his throat and chest tightening in shame. He takes good care of his body. He rarely eats anything that isn’t healthy, and he optimizes his workouts to build a cut physique, and now all these fucking people are critiquing it like he’s a statue on display down at the Royal Insomnia Gallery of Fine Art. Like he ain’t even a person.  
  
Besides, it’s not that bad, is it? He tries to keep things tidy down there, and last time he bothered measuring his cock, it was definitely bigger than the average. It’s not massive or anything, but it’s a respectable six and a half inches. No one’s ever complained it’s too small. No one’s said it’s unsatisfying. He lifts the band of his sweats to have a look. There it is, lying in the darkness of his pants, flaccid and ugly, like a naked mole-rat cowering in a burrow.  
  
Sighing, he releases the band and drops his head back on his pillow.  
  
No one ever said it’s unsatisfying, but maybe they thought it. How many one-night-stands only slept with him because they figured they’d get more from a guy his size? How many left the next morning disgusted by him—disgusted by his dick, his body hair, his tacky tattoo? Did Dario think these things?  
  
Did Ignis, after seeing the video? The idea makes him wanna die.  
  
So he tries not to think about it anymore, curling up around his pillow to squash the shame.

  
*

  
Somehow, he gets through the week without further incident. People still stare, and he occasionally catches the recruits sniggering behind their hands when they think he ain’t looking, but Ignis driving him to and from work spares him from the majority of public scrutiny.  
  
Until Friday morning, that is.  
  
He wakes to a text from Ignis.  
  
**Ignis (6:48 AM):** I’m afraid I won’t be able to pick you up this morning. Our wine vendor for the Crownsguard social fell through, so I’ll need to run around the city to find an alternative.  
  
**Ignis (6:49 AM):** Will you be all right on your own?  
  
Great. That means he has to take the metro to the Citadel. Which means he has to show his face on the streets of Insomnia. Which means he’ll be wondering if everyone he sees has watched his sex tape. He doesn’t really wanna go out there yet, but maybe it’s time to bite the bullet. He can’t stay holed up forever.  
  
**Gladiolus (6:52 AM):** yeah. i’m a big boy, iggy. i’ll be fine.  
  
**Ignis (6:53 AM):** Thank you. I apologize again.  
  
It takes Gladio longer than usual to get out of bed, but when he does, he takes a quick shower. When he’s towelled off, he dresses in a dark, long-sleeved shirt, then ties his hair back in a bun and covers his head with a ball cap. He studies his appearance in the mirror, deciding he looks about as inconspicuous as a man his size can get.  
  
The streets of his neighbourhood are empty when he leaves the house, but the main thoroughfare is already bustling with people on the way to work. For the most part, no one pays him any mind, but the minute he steps onto the metro platform, he feels like everyone is staring again. He puts in his earbuds and queues up some hip hop on his phone, louder than he normally would, and keeps his eyes fixed on the tracks.  
  
All the attention is a little harder to ignore on the train. The woman sitting across from him stares openly, and he can’t tell if she’s judging him or undressing him in her mind. Either way, his skin crawls. Her gaze keeps dropping from his mouth to his chest to his crotch before moving back up to his eyes. Gladio shifts uncomfortably in his seat and pulls his duffel onto his lap, looking away, his eyes alighting instead on an old man standing near the doors. He’s scowling at Gladio like he just caught him shitting in his flowerbed.  
  
That’s how it goes for the whole train ride. The woman in the seat opposite him eventually leaves, but another woman takes his place, and while she’s a little more subtle about her gawking, the way she tries to pretend she’s _not_ looking is almost worse than open staring.  
  
There’s nowhere for Gladio to look, no way to avoid drawing people’s eyes. Even though he’s fully dressed, he feels on display, naked, like a rare zoo animal. It’s a relief when the train stops at the Citadel station. He bolts out of there like his ass is on fire, darting around the slow-moving crowds until he emerges into the main square.  
  
But he finds there’s no escape here, either. The first thing he sees is the Informer’s newspaper box, and the image on the cover is his face again. The headline AMICITIA SEX SCANDAL! IS HE FIT TO SHIELD THE PRINCE? screams at him in yellow font.  
  
Is he? Between the headlines and Carla’s lecture, Gladio’s starting to wonder.  
  
Sighing, he flips his hood up again and jogs up the stairs to the Citadel.  
 

  
*

  
That evening, a knock comes at his door as he’s sprawled out on his bed, absently thumbing through the pages of a men’s fitness magazine. It’s getting late, but he’s a little grateful for the disturbance. He hasn’t absorbed anything he’s read, too caught up in his thoughts to concentrate on anything else.  
  
“Come in,” he says.  
  
The door creaks open, and Iris peeks her head in. “Hey, Gladdy,” she says. “What are you doing home?”  
  
“Reading.”  
  
“Well, duh,” she says, rolling her eyes. "But it’s a Friday. I thought you’d be out.”  
  
Gladio closes the magazine. “Nah. Didn’t really feel like showing my face at the bar.”  
  
“I guess that makes sense.” She comes to sit next to him on the bed. “Can I help you pick your outfit for the Crownsguard social?”  
  
“I ain’t going.”  
  
“What?” Iris looks at him with genuine horror, like he just admitted to drowning a basket full of puppies. “But it only happens once a year. You can’t miss it! Everyone will notice if you aren’t there.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, well, they’ll definitely notice if I do go, and I ain’t in the mood to deal with everyone gawking.”  
  
“Gladdyyyyy!” She flops back on the mattress, her arms thrown above her head, and glances over at him. “You have to start getting back to normal. It’ll be weirder if you keep acting like a hermit. You just need to own it.”  
  
“They teach you that at school?”  
  
“Ugh. No. It’s common sense.” She rolls over, propping her chin in her hands, and tries a different tack. “Ignis will be there. It’ll be a good excuse to spend time with him.”  
  
“I see him every day.”  
  
She gives him an exasperated look. “It’s the Crownsguard social. It’ll be at a fancy bar, with dim lighting, and lots of alcohol. You know what that means.”  
  
“It scares me a little that you know what it means.”  
  
“Do you want to kiss him or not?”  
  
“We’ve been over this. Even if he wanted to kiss me before, he probably doesn’t want to now. He thinks I’m an idiot, remember?”  
  
“You’re not giving him much benefit of the doubt,” Iris says. Gods, but she can be stubborn. “He wouldn’t be driving you around and helping you if he thought you were an idiot. I bet he’ll be disappointed if you don’t go tomorrow.”  
  
He gives her a crooked smile. “That so?”  
  
“Yes! So you’ll go?”  
  
He shakes his head and picks up his magazine again. “Nah. It’s been a long week. I’d rather just hang out here.”  
  
“Fine, be that way.” Iris rolls off the bed and gets to her feet. “But if you change your mind, come get me. I’ll make sure you’re dressed really nicely.”  
  
Then she goes, leaving Gladio to his thoughts again, only now instead of the shitty things he read on Eosweb about himself, he’s thinking about Ignis at the Crownsguard social, dressed to the nines in tailored slacks and a coeurl-print dress shirt, chatting up someone who isn’t Gladio. He imagines Ignis smelling like his expensive cologne, a whiff of gin on his breath as he leans in to speak in the ear of some faceless romantic rival, and a sudden stab of jealousy takes his breath away. It’s almost enough to make him change his mind.  
  
But the memory of Ignis’s impassive, calculating face in the meeting with Carla stops him. Ignis won’t want him there. Ignis would rather enjoy his evening without Gladio’s baggage following him around. He’s had enough of that this week.  
  
So Gladio gets back to flipping aimlessly through his magazine, his mind completely and irrevocably made up. The Crownsguard social will go on without him this year.


	3. Three

_To: info@back-door.eo_  
_From: i.scientia@citadel.eo_  
_Subject: Cease and desist order_  
  
_To whom it may concern,_  
  
_This letter has been served as notice that you will remove the video “Spread-Eagled Shield Gets Speared” (i.e. the attached link) from any and all back-door.eo servers it may be stored on. Please respond to this email to confirm the video’s removal before May 21._  
  
_Should your organization fail to comply with this notice, be advised that the Crown’s counsel will pursue a civil suit._  
  
_Sincerely,_  
_Ignis Scientia_  
_Advisor & Chamberlain _  
_House Caelum_  
_Citadel_  
  
_cc:     Carla Munio, Director of PR, Citadel_  
_Natalia Conti, Chief Counsel, Citadel_  
  
Ignis hits send, then removes his glasses and sets them on the desk, rubbing his weary eyes with a thumb and a forefinger. It’s been a long day. Between his council meetings, his duties to Noct, and scouring Eosweb for videos of Gladio, he’s hardly had a moment’s peace. For every video he’s had taken down, it seems another five spring up to replace it. To make matters worse, he’s had to sift through all manner of vicious comments about Gladio to find the links he’s looking for. They were disturbing to read, nearly enough to make him register an account on Crown City Gossip and give the commenters a piece of his mind. He can only hope Gladio hasn’t seen them.  
  
A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s nearly seven o’clock. That leaves him an hour to shower and dress for the Crownsguard social. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to attend. It’s been a long day, but an even longer week, and he would rather brew himself a cup of decaf and spend the evening on his couch reading a book. But he helped organize it, and he’s a senior member of the Crownsguard, so he’ll be expected to make an appearance. Besides, Gladio purchased a ticket three months ago, and Ignis can’t very well leave him to fend for himself after the humiliations he’s suffered.  
  
Assuming he attends, of course. Ignis has been so busy putting out fires this week, he never thought to ask. Despite all that’s happened, he hopes Gladio still plans to go; his heart skips a beat at the thought of having Gladio all to himself in a dark corner of the bar, breathing the scent of his aftershave and leaning surreptitiously into his body heat. It would go a long way toward resolving the awkward tension that’s been between them all week. Ignis picks up his phone and sends him a text: _Would you like a lift tonight?_  
  
The answer arrives almost immediately: _nah, i’m skipping it this year. sorry, iggy. i know you worked hard on it. have a good time, though, k?_  
  
Sighing, he sets down his phone, his hopes dashed. It’s unfortunate, but Ignis can hardly blame him. After suffering the indignity of having his personal life trotted out in the gossip magazines, Gladio probably wants a bit of privacy. Were Ignis in Gladio’s position, he’d likely make the same decision.  
  
Ignis makes his way into the bathroom and turns the water on hot, his muscles releasing by slow degrees under the pounding spray. His mind, however, can’t relax. The only reason he looks forward to the Crownsguard social each year is because it’s one of the few occasions he can unwind with a drink in Gladio’s presence. Most of the time, they’re too busy with their own schedules to connect outside of the occasional platonic lunch date or their duties to Noct. Without Gladio, it’s unlikely he’ll have anything approaching a good time.  
  
By the time he’s out of the shower, he’s made up his mind: he’ll show his face at the social, stay just long enough to have a drink and make the rounds, then drop by Gladio’s house to see if he can’t raise his friend’s spirits.  
  
Gladio might not want to be seen in public, but surely he’d be amenable to a quiet conversation between friends?

  
*

  
“ _Eosweb is going absolutely nuts trying to sniff out the mystery man in the Amicitia sex tape_ ,” the radio host says. “ _Some people are theorizing it’s another member of the Crownsguard. What a twist that would be!_ ”  
  
Scowling, Ignis jabs the knob on the radio to turn it off. It seems he can’t escape the gossip, no matter where he goes or what he does. After a week, he thought the media would have found another story to latch onto, but perhaps that was optimistic of him. Gladio is a public figure. He’s the Shield to the prince of Lucis. The Crown City has had its fair share of scandals, but never one so shocking as this. Never one that called into question the suitability of the prince’s guard, or cast a shadow on the royal family itself.  
  
Every new story is like picking the scab off a healing wound. As soon as Ignis thinks he might be allowed to forget what he saw—Gladio enjoying another man, and being enjoyed by him in return—he’s rudely reminded by Carla, by the press, and by the video itself, in his quest to eradicate it from Eosweb. Ignis has seen Gladio with paramours before, at Citadel balls and the occasional festival; past experience would suggest that this shouldn’t hurt so much.  
  
But it’s excruciating—perhaps because he has been shown, explicitly, the sort of intimacy with Gladio he can never have for himself.  
  
He sighs, guides his car into a parking spot along the curb outside the bar, and shuts off the engine, though he makes no move to exit the vehicle. A few of his compatriots are standing on the sidewalk, laughing and smoking, and bathed in the blue light of the sign above the door. From within, he can hear the heavy thumping of music. It’s already giving him a headache.  
  
Well, he might as well get on with it. The sooner he makes his appearance, the sooner he can leave.  
  
Exiting the car, he passes the group fraternizing on the sidewalk and ducks into the bar. The music is louder here, nearly deafening. Ignis gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, scanning the crowd for a face—any face—he recognizes, but the place is packed to the rafters, and he can’t pick a single one out of the crowd. So instead, he makes his way over to the bar, weaving his way through the masses.  
  
“Martini, please,” he says to the bartender as he lays down a ten-crown bill. “Light on the vermouth.”  
  
As he’s waiting for his drink, a large form swaggers up next to him. For a split second, his heart leaps, thinking Gladio decided to come after all. But then he realizes it isn’t Gladio—it’s Brutus, one of his fellow Crownsguard. They don’t have much occasion to cross paths, but they’re familiar with each other, and Ignis has had enough experience with Brutus to know he has more testosterone than mental acuity.  
  
“Scientia,” Brutus says by way of greeting, leaning on the bar with one elbow. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, and the muscles of his biceps bulge, one of them emblazoned with a tattoo of a zu carrying off a bare-chested woman in its talons. “Surprised you managed to pull this whole shebang off, with all the bullshit you’ve been shovelling at the Citadel.”  
  
Ignis looks at the tattoo with distaste, then at Brutus’s face, wishing this oaf would go away. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he says coolly.  
  
“Oh, come on, don’t play dumb. Amicitia’s sex tape?”  
  
Ignis bristles. “What business is it of yours?”  
  
“Sheesh, get that stick out of your ass. I was just trying to give you a compliment.”  
  
Offended, Ignis opens his mouth to respond, but the bartender returns just then with his martini, and Brutus takes the opportunity to order a beer. Just who does this man think he is, to speak to Ignis this way? To speak about Gladio this way? Ignis has half a mind to walk off without another word.  
  
“Look, I’m just saying you must be at the end of your rope, having to clean up after Amicitia and all that,” Brutus goes on, accepting a sweating bottle from the bartender. “Still can’t believe a guy like him takes it up the tailpipe, y’know? I figured he’d be fucking chicks left, right, and centre, not bending over for—”  
  
“I think that’s quite enough,” Ignis says sharply. “It’s not our place to speculate on his private affairs.”  
  
Brutus snorts and lifts the bottle to his lips. “Well, it’s not exactly private anymore, is it?”  
  
“For reasons beyond his control.”  
  
“Seriously?” Brutus looks at him as if he’s sprouted an extra head. “He let himself be videotaped getting railed. Only a moron does that.”  
  
Hearing this sort of talk about Gladio from one of their fellow Crownsguard officers—especially after he’s been publicly raked over the coals all week—is more than Ignis can stand. “This discussion is over,” he says.  
  
But Brutus just grins at him, leaning with one elbow against the bartop. “What’s the matter, Scientia, you got a little crush on the guy? Is that what’s got you all hot and bothered about this?”  
  
A flush creeps into Ignis’s cheeks, up the back of his neck. The most damnable thing about Brutus’s jeers is that he’s struck so close to the truth. “I didn’t come here to gossip about Gladio. And you have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Didn’t take you for the type to lust after whores,” Brutus says, now eyeing Ignis up and down with open disdain, “but I guess it makes sense. With a schedule like yours, you’re probably looking for someone who spreads their legs easy.”  
  
Ignis’s hand tightens around the stem of his martini glass. “I said that’s quite enough,” he snaps, “or I’ll have security escort you from the bar. And rest assured, you won’t be receiving a refund on your ticket.”  
  
Brutus just laughs, shaking his head, and disappears into the crowd, likely in search of someone else to antagonize. Shaking, Ignis runs a hand over his hair, smoothing back some stray tendrils, and wills himself to remain calm. It’s ridiculous to get worked up over a bully like Brutus, but all the same, he can hear his blood roaring in his ears. It’s isn’t just the cruelty of his words that’s so upsetting. It’s the reminder of what’s on that tape—the reminder that no matter how much he cares for Gladio, it’s unlikely that Gladio will ever share with him what he shared with Dario.  
  
Well, the least he can do is refuse to let Brutus spoil his night any further. He straightens his jacket, takes his martini, and turns to join the crowd, only to bump right into Cor.  
  
“Marshal,” he says, surprised to see him here. Although he always buys a ticket to support the Crownsguard, Cor rarely comes out to events such as these, perhaps in an effort to keep a respectable distance between himself and his men.  
  
“Ignis,” the Marshal returns. “Nice event you’ve put on here.”  
  
“It wasn’t wholly my doing,” Ignis says, “but thank you.”  
  
There’s a moment of awkward silence in which they regard each other, the Marshal waiting for the bartender to come by, and Ignis reaching for something to say. He’s accustomed to interacting with the Marshal in a work setting, not a social one. It would feel wrong to discuss Crownsguard business here, but nor does Ignis want to ask the Marshal about his personal life.  
  
He’s saved when the Marshal clears his throat and says, “I didn’t know you and Brutus were on friendly terms.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say we are.”  
  
“Oh? You were looking pretty chummy.”  
  
Ignis offers him a tight smile before taking a sip of martini. “Brutus was merely sharing his amusement over a topic I don’t wish to discuss.”  
  
“Gladio, I’m guessing?” When Ignis shoots him a look, he adds, “Let’s just say I’m aware of some bad blood between those two.”  
  
“Bad blood?” Ignis echoes.  
  
“Just more fallout from Gladio’s, uh…” Cor clears his throat, making a vague hand gesture, before he settles on: “His situation. Can’t really talk about it.”  
  
This is the first Ignis has heard of trouble between Gladio and Brutus, but then, perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised after Brutus’s comments tonight. If the public is willing—gleeful, even—to tear Gladio apart where he can’t help but see it, then there are certainly people within the Citadel who would do the same to Gladio’s face. People like Brutus, who define their masculinity by the size of their muscles or how hard they can hit, or indeed how they express their sexuality. People who can’t reconcile the idea of Gladio they hold in their heads with the version of him they saw on the video.  
  
“I see,” Ignis says softly. He thinks of Gladio sitting alone at home, suffering quietly, perhaps castigating himself, as he has been doing all week, for getting himself into his mess, and he realizes he can’t stay here for one minute longer. “Thank you, Marshal. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”  
  
Cor nods in acknowledgement. Ignis drains his glass and checks his watch. It’s quarter to nine. The liquor store closes soon, but if he hurries, he can make it there in time to pick up some beers for Gladio before heading over to Amicitia manor.  
  
And then, perhaps, he and Gladio can talk.

  
*

  
It’s half past nine when Ignis rings the bell at Amicitia manor. The lights on the main floor are all extinguished; for a moment, Ignis wonders if it was a mistake not to call ahead, but then Jared answers the door, dressed in a navy blue housecoat and a pair of slippers.  
  
“Master Ignis,” he says, looking surprised to see him standing on the front step. “What brings you here at this hour?”  
  
“Apologies for getting you out of bed. I thought I might drop in to see Gladio,” Ignis explains. “He told me he’d be here tonight.”  
  
“Yes, yes, of course.” Jared motions him inside and closes the door behind him. He gestures at the six-pack of Insomnia pale ales Ignis is holding. “Would you like me to put those in the refrigerator for you?”  
  
Ignis shakes his head. “No, thank you. I expect we’ll be drinking them immediately.”  
  
“Very well, then. I’ll fetch the young master for you.”  
  
“That won’t be necessary, Jared,” Ignis says. “I’ll go to him.”  
  
They bid each other goodnight, and as Jared shuffles off down the hall to his bedroom at the back of the house, Ignis climbs the stairs to the second floor. Like downstairs, the hallway up here is dark. The only light he can see is a faint orange glimmer spilling out from the crack under Gladio’s door. Ignis makes his way toward it, knocking gently to signal his presence.  
  
“Come in,” Gladio says from within.  
  
Ignis opens the door and steps inside. The bed is empty, the overhead light off, but Gladio sits in the window seat, his long legs crossed at the ankles, reading by the glow of his desk lamp. His dark hair is tied back in a bun at the nape of his neck, a few loose tendrils hanging around his face. He wears a pair of grey sweatpants and a black tank top, his feet bare. As Ignis enters, he glances up, his eyes widening in surprise.  
  
“What’re you doing here?” he asks.  
  
Ignis holds up the six-pack of beer, letting the door click shut softly behind him. “I thought you might like a bit of company, since you couldn’t make it to the social. I hope that wasn’t too presumptuous of me.”  
  
“No.” Gladio shakes his head and closes his book, setting it down in his lap. “I just figured you’d be there all night.”  
  
Ignis shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it on one of the hooks on the back of Gladio’s door. “So did I, but as it turns out, there’s only so much of Brutus’s chest-thumping I can endure.”  
  
Gladio’s face darkens, and he looks down at his hands. The bad blood Cor mentioned, most likely, but Ignis won’t ask about it. There’s enough gossip going around about Gladio. Bringing yet more to his attention now would be cruel. Besides, Gladio has been awkward and distant with him since the day the story broke, and Ignis isn’t sure he wants to make it any worse.  
  
He sits on the edge of the bed, setting the six-pack on the window seat next to Gladio’s legs, like an offering. “How are you?”  
  
“All right, I guess.” Gladio reaches for the six-pack and removes two beers from the carton. “There’s a bottle opener in the desk drawer. Wanna grab it?”  
  
Ignis does, and Gladio cracks both bottles before handing one over to Ignis. Although he isn’t much of a beer drinker—he’s always preferred a white wine or martini—Ignis accepts it. He watches Gladio take a long drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. In the golden lamplight, he looks so lovely.  
  
Ignis clears his throat, bringing his own bottle to his lips. “Tell me,” he says, “how are you? Truly?”  
  
Gladio shrugs. “Mostly relieved I don’t have to put on a stoic face for the masses. Until Monday, at least.”  
  
“I can see why that would be a weight off your shoulders.”  
  
Gladio nods, but he says nothing more, instead fingering the worn cover of the book he was reading, his eyes averted. Ignis lets the silence linger, hoping Gladio will fill it, but knowing him as he does, he suspects he’ll have to prompt him further. Gladio has always been sensitive; he rarely, however, allows himself to be vulnerable, even with his friends, and particularly when his feelings involve shame or self-doubt.  
  
“Did you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.  
  
“Dunno what else there is to say.”  
  
Ignis swallows the lump in his throat. At their meeting with Carla on Monday, she didn’t need to tell Gladio that Shields can’t be weak. It’s a lesson Gladio has been taught since he was a child, a mantra that’s was drilled into him first by his father, then by Cor and the other leaders of the Crownsguard. Ignis just wishes Gladio could trust him enough to let his defenses down once in a while.  
  
He wishes Gladio could trust him as much as he trusted Dario the night they made the video.  
  
“Think people will ever stop talking about it?” Gladio asks.  
  
Ignis looks at him. “Of course. They’ll forget in time.”  
  
“Doesn’t feel like it.” A half smile curves Gladio’s lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a cynical, self-deprecating sort of smile that Ignis has never seen him wear before. “People just… _stare_. Like I can’t tell they’re looking. Or maybe they don’t care.”  
  
“Are you sure they’re staring?”  
  
“Yeah. Some of ‘em just look curious, or like they think I’m an idiot. The rest look like they’re picturing me naked.” Gladio drains his beer and sets it on the windowsill before reaching for a fresh bottle. “You know, a couple of weeks ago, I wouldn’t have minded people looking at me like that, but now it’s just creepy.”  
  
Ignis supposes that can’t be helped. Gladio’s physique is difficult not to notice, and once he’s been glimpsed without clothing, impossible to forget. “They’ll stop looking eventually, once the novelty of the situation has worn off.”  
  
The bottle hisses as Gladio removes the cap. He takes a sip from it, and it’s as if the beer has loosened his tongue, because the words keep coming. “It ain’t necessarily the looking that’s the problem. It’s more like…they’ve seen me getting fucked, and they’re judging me for it.”  
  
“Gladio, what Carla said—”  
  
“It ain’t about Carla,” Gladio says, cutting him off. “Come on, Iggy, I’m not stupid. People make assumptions about me because of the way I look. I’m big and strong, so I’m supposed to be be the one taking charge in the sack. I’m supposed to be blowing my load in some woman and producing a bunch of heirs like the sons of every other noble family in Insomnia.”  
  
Ignis can’t argue with that. Brutus himself said something similar at the bar, and he’s seen a few articles and blog posts this week dissecting the topic in great detail.  
  
“And I can’t help thinking that maybe they’re right,” Gladio goes on, an uncharacteristic shade of despair creeping into his voice. “Like maybe there was something wrong with me for wanting Dario like that.”  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Ignis says, wanting to reassure him, although it hurts to hear Gladio speak of his desire for Dario. “You were right when you said it’s no one’s business who you choose to be with, and how.”  
  
“I know,” Gladio says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck, I know. Sorry, Iggy, I shouldn’t be dumping all this on you. I’ve just been stuck in my own head.”  
  
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Ignis says. “You’ve been through a lot this week. Anyone in your position would have trouble coping.”  
  
“If it was just the staring, it wouldn’t be so bad,” Gladio says, “but the stuff I’ve read…”  
  
“Read?”  
  
“Like comments on websites and shit.”  
  
Ignis’s heart sinks. If there’s one thing he never wanted Gladio to see, it’s the things the public has been saying about him—the criticism of his body, the ridicule of his tattoo, the uncharitable remarks about his masculinity. All of it absurd, all of it untrue. Gladio is, in every way, magnificent; at least, Ignis has always thought so. If Gladio could see himself the way Ignis does, he’d never doubt his own worth.  
  
“I wish you hadn’t read those things,” he says softly. “It’s easy for people to be unkind when they can hide behind their screen names.”  
  
Gladio looks down at the bottle clasped in his hands. “Maybe.”  
  
“Gladio, if I may be frank…” Ignis says. He pushes his glasses up his nose, weighing his words. “You have a body many would kill for. The comments you read were written by jealous, feeble-minded people, the sort who would say terrible things about someone else to make themselves feel good. There isn’t an ounce of truth to any of them.”  
  
Gladio glances at him, cautiously, as though he wants to but can’t quite believe what Ignis is saying. Realizing how candid he’s been, Ignis flushes. He lifts his bottle to his lips and takes a sip, unable to hold Gladio’s gaze.  
  
“I guess so,” Gladio says. “Either way, I’ve learned my lesson.”  
  
“And what lesson is that?”  
  
Gladio gives him a crooked smile. “Don’t trust anyone?”  
  
“That’s hyperbole, I hope,” Ignis says pointedly. "There are people in your life who want only the best for you. Don’t let the actions of one man blind you to that.”  
  
“I was kidding, Iggy.” Gladio sighs, running a hand through his hair. Ignis can’t help but watch the muscle of his bicep move under golden skin. “I was an idiot for trusting Dario. Should’ve realized what he was all about from the get-go.”  
  
Ignis nods slowly, in acknowledgement and silent agreement. It’s something he’s wondered since this entire debacle began: why did Gladio allow his attraction to Dario overwhelm rational thought? And what did Gladio see in Dario that he’s never seen in Ignis?  
  
“You cared for him,” he says. “No one can fault you for that.”  
  
Gladio waves a hand. “I let my dick lead me around. That’s on me.”  
  
“And yet you still left him,” Ignis says softly. When Gladio doesn’t answer, only looks silently out the window, he asks: “Why?”  
  
Gladio is silent for a moment, draining the last of his beer before setting the bottle down with a clink on the windowsill beside him. The moonlight lancing through the window paints his profile in silver. “‘Cause I wasn’t in love with him,” he finally says. “Didn’t seem fair to keep leading him on.”  
  
“No, I suppose not,” Ignis murmurs. He’s gratified by the admission that Gladio felt no emotional attachment to Dario, though he knows he shouldn’t be; an absence of affection for Dario doesn’t mean he reserves those feelings for Ignis. They’ve been friends since childhood. If Gladio was in love with him, surely he would have said something by now.  
  
Gladio looks at him. “Anyway, thanks for the company, Iggy,” he says.  
  
“And the beer?” Ignis teases.  
  
“‘Course.”  
  
Ignis finishes his own bottle and sets it down on the nightstand, glancing at his watch. It’s quarter to eleven. As reluctant as he is to leave, he’s exhausted. “I suppose I should go. It’s been a long day.”  
  
“Yeah.” Gladio’s gaze lingers on him for another few moments before he finally looks away again, down at his hands. “Listen, Iggy…”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Gladio swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily. He glances back at at Ignis. “Think you might be able to give me a ride to the Citadel on Monday?”  
  
“I can…” Ignis says slowly.  
  
“I know it’s out of the way for you,” Gladio says. “I just don’t think I’m ready for public transit yet.”  
  
“I’m happy to drive you,” Ignis says, “but as difficult as it is, you’ll need to start getting back to your normal routine sooner or later. You can’t stay holed up in my car forever.” Ignis gestures around at the room. “Or here, for that matter.”  
  
“I know,” Gladio says, in the tone that indicates he doesn’t appreciate the lecture.  
  
Ignis rises to retrieve his jacket from the hook on the back of the door. As he’s slipping his arms into the sleeves, a thought occurs to him. He could be of help in getting Gladio back to a normal routine—and resolving the strange, uncomfortable tension between them. “Why don’t you come over to my place tomorrow night? For dinner and a movie? I’ll cook.”  
  
Gladio shakes his head. “I dunno, Iggy…”  
  
“It won’t be any bother, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ignis says. “In fact, I’d rather enjoy the company. What do you say?”  
  
Gladio looks like he’s pondering it for a moment, and then he starts to nod slowly. “Sure. It might be fun.”  
  
“I’ll let you choose the movie.” Ignis buttons his jacket. “Let’s say five o’clock?”  
  
Gladio nods again. “Sounds good. I’ll see you then?”  
  
“Indeed,” Ignis says. He doesn’t add: _It’s a date_ , though all the same, a little shiver of pleasure goes through him at the thought that he’ll have Gladio to himself for a few hours this weekend after all. “Goodnight, then, Gladio,” he says, fondly, before he exits the room and closes the door between them.

**Author's Note:**

> I started another project. FML.
> 
> This is unbeta'd, though I thank AtropaAzraelle for listening to me talk about this project at length and offering suggestions along the way. Any errors in continuity and/or consistency are my own.


End file.
